What Planet Are We On Again?
by jansonpls
Summary: Luke covered in mud, Han Solo in Gryffindor's fireplace, Wes and Hobbie running loose around Hogwarts. . .if this isn't crack, then nothing is. HPESB crossover
1. I thought Hermione said:

**Title:** What Planet Are We On Again?   
**Author:** djcati   
**Fandom:** Star Wars OT / Harry Potter (crossover)   
**Characters:** Too many.   
**Rating:** PG   
**Notes:** In this obviously-AU HP world, the SW OT wasn't released, but the prequel trilogy was, just ten years earlier than IRL. (stabs continuity with a spork) 

Hey everyone! There aren't really three new chapters on this - sorry. I just realised that the original chapter was incredibly long, so I've split it into three parts. Fourth chapter's all new, though! 

Enjoy:) 

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* * *

Han Solo was afraid. He knew he was in trouble this time; had been in trouble enough to recognise that. But before, it had never seemed _real_ - this time, it was very real. Very real indeed, and there was no hope this time, no odds to be defied. This was it; this was the end of his life, and he knew it. 

"I love you," the Princess called out suddenly, and Han gritted his teeth so he wouldn't cry. She loved him. Leia Organa loved him. 

_Say it back, you fool,_ his brain was insisting, _before you die._

"I know." 

His brain did the equivalent of slapping its forehead, shrugging and turning away. _Smooth. Yeah, she'll **really** go for that._

But it was too late to say anything else, as the platform sunk lower and lower into the pit of freezing, carbonite death.

* * *

Luke Skywalker swayed from side to side as he balanced on one hand, using the Force to keep himself upright and slowly spin rocks around him. He really was doing rather well, he thought, and so he reached out to pick up his droid as well - and in that instant, lost his concentration and fell over, head first and _splat _ into the swamp mud. Artoo Detoo blatted at him, in a tone obviously meant to convey amusement. 

"More attention, you must pay, young Skywalker. Failure like this, welcome it is not." 

Yoda's chiding voice grated on Luke's ears, and he frowned. "I... saw something." 

_Yeah, mud,_ Artoo's beeping translated to, and Luke shook his head, even as he wondered how he knew that. He really was hanging around the droid too much. 

"A vision?" Yoda asked, disdain evident in his voice. 

"Han, and Leia... in danger." _Mostly Han,_ he added to himself, rolling his eyes. 

"In motion, the future always is. Concentrate on training, now, you must," Yoda told him dismissively. 

"No... this was real. They're in danger. I have to go!" 

Yoda stared at him for a moment, and Luke self-consciously wiped the mud from his face. "Hmph," the Jedi Master decided, turning away. "No. Now, to the cave, we are heading." 

"What?" Luke scrambled to his feet and followed Yoda, wondering how the little alien could move so fast when he wanted to. "But I have to go! And I went in there yesterday." 

Yoda stopped suddenly, and Luke almost fell over him. "Failed, you did, young Skywalker. Again, you must try." Mysteriously, Yoda glanced knowingly at a blank spot in the swamp. "Important plot point, it is." 

_What?_ "Um... OK, Master, if you say so." Luke shrugged, checked to make sure his lightsaber was clipped to his belt, and stepped towards the cave. He drew to a halt just outside it and breathed in deeply. Maybe this time, he _should_ leave his lightsaber... _Nah. Might need it again._

"Foolish boy," Yoda muttered behind him, and Luke indignantly took another step forward, disappearing into the mist of the cave. 

Beeping curiously, Artoo trundled towards the cave, turning his photoreceptor to regard Yoda with clear disapproval. Raising his stick, Yoda hit the droid, and then beckoned him towards the cave. "In we must go, old droid. Follow me." 

_Old? You're one to talk._

"Quiet you should be, or memory wipe I shall put you in for. Want one of those, you do not, hmm?" 

Artoo blatted rudely and rolled into the cave ahead of Yoda. Chuckling softly, the Jedi master followed them in, wondering to himself if this story was really worth all the insistent plot points.

* * *

Han thought about opening his eyes, and decided against it. He wasn't quite sure what was going on now, except that he felt decidedly too warm to be frozen in carbonite. In fact, if he was as stupid as he pretended to be, he might have thought he was lying in a fireplace, except that it wasn't burning him, and he wasn't sure what a fireplace was anyway. 

"Who is it?" a hushed voice was asking. 

"I don't know," a bossy female voice replied, "but he shouldn't be here. It's quite impossible." 

"Why is it impossible?" a softer, yet more insistent voice asked. 

The female sighed exasperatedly. "Because if I've told you once I've told you a hundred times - _it's impossible to get in and out of this castle without permission._" 

_Castle?_ Han's brain asked him. _Where are we, Hapes? Force, no, anything but Hapes. Please don't be Hapes._

"Maybe he has permission," the first voice - a boy, Han decided, now that his ears were hearing more clearly - suggested. 

The female scoffed. "Him? He'd need permission from Dumbledore, or McGonagall at least. And even if he did, why would he be in Gryffindor's fireplace? No, this is quite impossible, and therefore, he's not really here." 

Han liked that logic. If it was impossible, and he wasn't here, then he could just go to sleep and wake up back on his ship, couldn't he? 

"Hermione, it's obvious he's here. We just need to work out how and why." 

"Hmph. Well, I don't like it." 

Han decided that it obviously wasn't going to work, and he needed to open his eyes and find out where he was. He slowly did so, and realised, with only a little shock, that he was indeed in a fireplace. With green flames. Never mind. "Uh, guys," he tried, coughed to get the ash out of his throat, and tried again. "Guys, do I get a say in this?" 

"Oh, he's alive?" The first boy's voice sounded disappointed. "I suppose we can ask him, now." 

Han looked up out of the flames to see who, exactly, the three were. Children, he saw immediately, or teenagers anyway, about fifteen or so. There were two boys and a girl, all extremely strange-looking, and as he studied them closer, the second boy - black-haired and green-eyed, with a strange scar on his forehead - reached out and pulled him out of the fire and to his feet. "Thanks," Han coughed. 

"No problem." The boy paused, then indicated himself and his friends. "I'm Harry Potter, this is Hermione Granger, and this-" He pointed to the red-haired boy, still crouched on the floor, studying the embers of the burnt-out fire intently. "-is Ron Weasley." 

Han nodded, wondered why, then shook his head. "Great. I'm Han Solo. Where the hell am I?" 

The girl stared up at him, frowning. "You don't know?" 

"Oh, sure, I'm just asking you to be annoying." 

"This," the girl continued, "is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. What are you doing here, if you don't know that?" 

"Like I know." Han frowned suddenly. "Wizardry. Don't tell me you guys are Jedi Knights as well? I've had enough of that to last a lifetime..." 

Harry glanced at his friends, then back at Han. "Uh, no, we're wizards. And a witch," he added, indicating Hermione. 

"Wizards and witches." Han laughed. "What, like the fairy tales? With spells and magic wands, like a holoshow or something?" 

His laughter died instantly as all three children nodded and help up thin wooden sticks - _magic wands_, he realised. His eyes widened. "Blast, you guys _are_ wizards. What planet _is_ this?" 

"Earth," said Hermione, as if he really should have known. "Did you hit your head when you landed in the fireplace?" 

"Obviously," Han answered, finally turning his gaze on the rest of this room. He'd never heard of a planet _Earth_ before. Maybe it was in the Unknown Regions. Was he in Chiss space or something? That couldn't be good. But this whole _wizardry_ thing sounded just like something some crazy Imperial type would think up to fight Jedi, and Han thought the whole thing stank of Thrawn or Fel. 

A second passed before he remembered that he didn't actually know who either Thrawn or Fel was yet. But it sure stank of them anyway. 

"You say this is a school?" He directed the question to the bossy girl as he finished his examination of the room - _far too grand and expensive-looking,_ he thought, pulling a face at the portraits on the wall. _Definitely Thrawn._

"Yes," Hermioned answered, irritated. "Hogwarts. It's the most famous wizarding school in the world," she added proudly, fixing Han with an even more suspicious stare. 

"Only in the wizarding world," Harry amended. "He's probably a Muggle," he suggested to his friends. "And he's from America - maybe Hogwarts isn't that well-known over there anyway." 

"America?" What kind of name was _that_ for a planet? "I'm from _Corellia_," he told them. At their blank stares, he added, "You know, one of the most famous planets in the galaxy?" Sithspit, this _was_ the Outer Rim. Was this another Adumar? 

He didn't know what Adumar was yet either, so he ignored his inner monologue once again. 

"The galaxy?" Harry laughed nervously. "This is just one planet, mate." 

The red-haired boy - Ron? - scrunched his face up in confusion. "You're not an alien, are you?" 

"Um, no, I'm human." Han frowned for a second. "I guess I count as an alien on this planet." He looked round the room again, exasperated. "Look, guys, is there something, I don't know, that I can shoot or eat or insult around here? This conversation's getting too surreal." 

Ron brightened visibly. "You just hang on a sec, and I'll go get Malfoy." 

Harry grabbed the back of his friend's awful purple jumper as he turned towards the door, and Ron sighed. "All right," he conceded, brushing Harry's hand away irritably. 

Hermione _hmph_ed again, said, "Well, _I'm_ going to go and find Professor McGonagall," and spun to face the door. She stalked off, and Han heard a sleepy, irritated voice scolding her as she left via a strangely circular exit. 

He raised an eyebrow, half amused, half confused, half irritated at the author's use of rhyming _and_ bad maths in one sentence, and turned back to Harry and Ron. "Who stuck a lightsaber up _her_ butt?" 

Ron snickered and Harry hit him on the shoulder. "She just wants to get this situation resolved," Harry said vaguely, shooting a warning glance at his friend. "We still don't know why you're here, after all." 

"Yeah, I want to find that out, too." Han shrugged and walked past the two boys to collapse in one of the too-comfortable chairs. "Last I knew, I was dead. Or in hybernation, I'm not sure which," he admitted. 

"Are you _really_ from another planet?" Ron asked curiously, dropping into the seat opposite Han. Harry sat on the mismatched couch between the two armchairs, taking off his glasses and wiping at them idly. 

"Yeah. Don't happen to have any starships round here, do you?" Han yawned suddenly, and scowled at his tiredness. Stupid Imperials - why did keeping prisoners awake have to be part of the torture routine? Weren't those stupid machines enough? "I could really do with getting to the rendezvous point right about now. I think we're about a week late." And he would have to find Luke, too, and get the damned kid to help rescue Leia and Chewie. Why did he always have to rescue someone? 

"Starships?" Ron's eyes were wide. "What's that?" 

Harry narrowed his eyes cynically at Han as he put his glasses back on. "You don't mean like in Star Trek, do you?" 

For some inexplicable reason, the phrase _Star Trek_ conjured up deep feelings of hatred in Han, and it disturbed him slightly. "No," he said firmly. 

"Star Wars, then?" 

Ah, that was better. Han didn't recognise _Star Wars_ anymore than he did _Star Trek_, but it gave him a warm fuzzy feeling and almost made him smile. "Yeah, I think so." 

"Stop talking about Muggle things," Ron insisted, scowling at Harry. "You know I don't know anything about that. Hey, I know," he said suddenly, brightening. "Let's play Exploding Snap!" 

Han stared at the boy, confused. What the kriff was that? The _Exploding_ part worried him slightly. "Sure?" 

Ron produced a deck of cards from a pocket and crouched down on the floor, waving a hand for Han and Harry to do the same. Bemused, Han did so, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a room in a school run by Thrawn on a strange planet, and proceeded to play Exploding Snap. He had the strangest feeling that this moment would be the most normal of the entire day.

* * *


	2. You're supposed to look after me

Hobbie groaned as he woke up, his senses immediately assaulted on all fronts - blinding light, Wes's voice, uncomfortable bed, sweaty smell, sour taste. Plus, just to top it all off, a really, _really_ bad headache. 

"Hobbie! Hobbie, get _up_!" 

"Damn it, no," he groaned, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there. OK, the medics had finally let him out of the bacta tank that morning, he'd gotten a few hours rest in his quarters, Wes had dragged him down to the Rogues' lounge, someone had produced a crate of lomin ale. . .that was as far as he got. 

"Hobbie, get _up_, you _have_ to see this!" 

Hobbie groaned again. "Wes, I've seen our room a hundred times already on this mission. I don't need to see it again for a few hours at least." Why did he have to bunk with Wes, anyway? Was it some kind of retribution for a sin in his last life? Was Skywalker mad at him for something? He made a mental note to find Luke at some point and apologise profusely. 

"No, no, we're not _in_ our room, this is messed up, you _have_ to see it." 

"Great, you get me drunk and don't even drag me back to our quarters. I just got out of bacta, you know, you're supposed to look after me." Hobbie sighed and finally relented, opened his eyes - and froze. 

Wes was right - they weren't in their room. Hobbie wasn't sure they were even on the ship anymore. The room was large, larger than anything Hobbie had seen since the Great Temple on Yavin Four. It wasn't made of durasteel like the ship he could've sworn they were on, but lined with expensive-looking wood panelling, and with paintings _everywhere_. Moving his head slightly, Hobbie noted that he was lying on the floor between two long tables, and up at the head of the room was a raised platform with another, shorter table. 

But the most extraordinary feature of the room wasn't the wooden panelling, or the tables, or the candles that floated in mid-air; it was- 

"Look at the _ceiling_, Hobbie!" 

Still irritated, Hobbie glared quickly at Wes, who was sitting on the table to the left, his feet on the bench. Then he followed Wes's gaze and stared in awe at the ceiling - or apparent lack thereof. He could see right up into the night sky, an unfamiliar constellation pattern partly blocked by clouds. He winced and covered his eyes when he noticed that it was raining, but moved his arm back to his side when he failed to get even remotely wet. 

"It's so astral! Must be some kind of vidscreen," Wes mused, finally tearing his eyes from the view and grinning at Hobbie. 

Hobbie tried to smile at his friend's enthusiasm, but winced when it made his headache even worse. "Pretty big vidscreen," he noted, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. No drastic change in the level of pain in his head - good. 

"Yeah, but these guys are rich - look at the wood and paintings. Maybe it's Thrawn," Wes suggested slowly. 

Hobbie frowned, wincing again - his head seemed to disagree with any expression other than a carefully blank stare. "Who's Thrawn?" 

Wes offered a rare frown. "I don't know." He shrugged and grinned again. "But he must be rich! Where are we, anyway? I thought we got back to our room in the end." 

"I don't know," Hobbie replied, slowly standing up and brushing down his creased flightsuit. "But let's not-" 

"Let's go find out then," Wes suggested, grinning again. He looked round the room quickly for an exit, then grabbed Hobbie's arm and pulled him towards the large, wooden doors. 

Hobbie pulled his arm free of Wes's as they reached the doorway and scowled at his friend. "I'm quite capable of walking without your assistance, you know." 

"Hey, you're the one who just got out of bacta." Wes tilted his head, studying the doors, then nodded decisively and pushed on the left one. It swung out into a candle-lit entrance hall, and Wes grinned, grabbing Hobbie's arm again and dragging him through the now-open door. 

Wes stopped suddenly, and Hobbie stumbled as his body argued with his arm about its location. He looked up and his eyes widened when he saw who was there. "Commander Skywalker!" he gasped, conscious of how rumpled and sweat-stained his flightsuit probably was. On second thoughts, however, Skywalker probably didn't care - he was covered in what looked suspiciously like swamp mud. 

"Hobbie, Janson! What are you two doing here?" Skywalker seemed as surprised as they were, and self-consciously wiped the mud from his hair - succeeding only in getting even more into it. 

Hobbie noticed for the first time that Skywalker's droid was beside him, accompanied by the strangest alien he'd ever seen: a short, green, wrinkled _thing_ - and it was carrying a stick. It stared back at him, a crazy, knowing grin on its face, and Hobbie blinked. He felt like he should be scared of that grin, but he was too used to Wes's grins - now _those_ were scary. 

"Exploring, Luke! You want to join us?" Wes grinned - that very dangerous grin - again and finally let go of Hobbie's arm. 

"Uh. . ." Skywalker didn't seem to know what to say to that and stared at Wes blankly. He glanced down at his droid, who bleeped at him, and then at the strange alien. "Uh, Master Yoda?" 

The little alien let out a slow breath, then nodded. "About this place, you must find out. Important to the story, it is." 

"Stop talking about a blasted story," Skywalker muttered under his breath, wincing as Yoda hit him in the leg with his stick. "Sorry, Master. Uh, sure, Wes," he continued, shrugging. "Let's explore." 

"Great," Wes said cheerfully, pointing to the grand stairs that were the main feature of the hall. "Let's go, then," he said, setting off towards them. 

Hobbie followed, with Skywalker, his droid, and the little alien close behind. He couldn't help but have a really, really bad feeling about this. . .

* * *

Han looked up as the strange door to the common room opened, his brief lapse in concentration resulting in a loud and exultant win from Ron. The bossy girl was back, with an even bossier-looking woman close behind. Well, weren't things improving all the time? 

"Eat _that_ explosion, Solo!" Ron cried, scooping up the cards from the floor and laughing as another one crackled in his hand. "Wow, maybe I shouldn't have taken one of Fred and George's decks." 

"Ron!" Harry hissed, nudging his friend and pointing towards the entrance. Hermione stood there, shaking her head in disapproval, and the woman was glaring at the two boys and Han. 

"Potter, Weasley," she said suddenly, in a sharp voice that had Han wincing. And he'd thought Vader's voice was scary. "What's going on here? Miss Granger came to tell me we had an intruder. Apparently, neither of you had the initiative to do so - and you're playing _games_ with him? Surely you know better than that!" 

Ron shrugged, smiling ruefully and hiding the deck of enchanted cards behind his back. "Well, he seemed nice enough-" 

"I imagine Barty Crouch _seemed_ nice enough. I imagine Tom Riddle _seemed_ nice enough. Now step away from the man this instant! You don't know what he's been up to or where he's been!" 

Han held his hands up innocently and got to his feet, even as Ron and Harry edged away nervously. He didn't understand the woman's analogies, but they seemed to scare the boys. "Sorry for any inconvenience caused, ma'am," he said in his most charming voice, the one that always won over the female staff at customs back home. "I don't mean to-" 

"Be quiet!" the woman snapped, and Han blinked. 

"Now see here, lady," he said, dropping the cute act and resting a hand on the blaster at his hip - or rather, where his blaster would have been, had the Imperials not confiscated it. Han cursed the author's tenacious grip on some semblance of continuity. "I ain't caused no trouble, so don't be causing any for me, OK? I want to go home just as much as you want me out of here, so if we all just play nice, maybe it can happen with no disintegrations along the way." 

The woman seemed shocked that anyone would dare talk back to her in such a manner. "Excuse _me_, but I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House and deputy headmistress of this establishment, and I shall be accorded the proper respect while you are in this school!" 

Deputy head? So that meant she answered directly to Thrawn. If Han played his cards right, he could get an audience with the Imperial, kill him, and he'd _never_ have to know who he was! And Han _always _ played his cards right. "I apologise," he said, slipping smoothly back into his charming voice. "I didn't realise your position here. Now, if you just take me to your superior, maybe we can sort out this misunderstanding and we can all get back to normal." 

"Oh. Well, I imagine Professor Dumbledore will be very interested in meeting you indeed," McGonagall replied slowly. She glanced at Hermione as if for help, but the girl was too busy staring at Han in disbelief. "Yes. So, come with me. Children," she added, glaring quickly at Harry and Ron, "get back to your beds. It's after midnight!" 

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared dumbly as McGonagall led Han towards the door to the common room, not making a move towards the dorms. Han turned back just as McGonagall climbed through the portrait hole, and shrugged apologetically at them. He waved and turned back to climb through the hole himself, not seeing Harry and Hermione approaching it slowly, or Ron race up to the dorm room to get the twins. 

They were nice enough kids, he figured as he followed McGonagall down the dark corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady's indignant complaints. Just a little. . .strange.

* * *


	3. Don't ever let pranksters meet

"Huh?" Luke stopped in the middle of the third floor corridor, suddenly noticing that Artoo and Yoda were longer at his side. He glanced down left and right, then spun round and squinted to try and find them in the darkness of the corridor. He vaguely heard Hobbie and Janson continue walking towards the next flight of stairs, alternately bickering and joking in that extremely annoying way they always did. Apparently, sticking them in the same bunk room just made that worse; he made a mental note to avoid doing that in future. 

"Master Yoda," he called out in a whisper. "Artoo. Where are you guys?" 

_Here,_ Artoo beeped unhelpfully. 

Luke squinted again, staring at where he thought the noise had come from, and finally spotted a shadow somewhere by a statue. He slowly walked towards it, his hand on his lightsaber hilt, then stopped with a sudden jolt. His lightsaber. Well, _obviously_. He ignited it, grinning at the familiar _snap-hiss _, and wondered why he hadn't thought to use it for illumination before. 

"Use your weapon so lightly you would, hmm?" Yoda's eyes reflected the electric blue blade, and Luke winced at the disapproval in them. 

"Well, I- I just thought it would help," he stuttered. He glanced back over his shoulder, but Hobbie and Janson had already gone up the next set of stairs. He sighed and shut off the blade, plunging the corridor into darkness again. 

"Ah! Fool you are! On, on put the blade!" 

"What?" Luke ignited the lightsaber quickly, staring in disbelief at the Jedi Master. "But you said-" 

"Said such use was bad, did I? A question I asked!" Yoda _hmph_ed and turned away, studying the statue closely. "Light we need, for this puzzle to work out. Guarded by this, an entrance is." He reached up with his stick and tapped the head of the statue, but nothing happened. "Find a way in, we must." 

"Another plot point?" Luke asked dryly, rolling his eyes. 

"No," Yoda answered, spinning round to hit Luke on the leg. "Curious, I am." 

"Well-" Luke stopped and spun round as he heard a voice. A second of silence passed, then footsteps - two sets, he thought - could be heard, running down the stairs. He held up his lightsaber and almost dropped it when he saw who was heading for them. "_Han_!" he cried out. 

"Kid? Luke, is that you?" Han stumbled, then ran at top speed towards him, skidding to a halt just before Luke's lightsaber blade sliced his head off. "Kid, you don't know how glad I am to see you. I've been going crazy in this place!" 

The other person - a woman, Luke could see now, somewhere around Obi-Wan's age, or the age he would have been - ran up to them, a shocked expression on her face. "More intruders!" She glared at Luke's lightsaber disapprovingly, then _hmph_ed at Artoo and narrowed her eyes at Yoda. "What are you doing up here, elf? Shouldn't you be doing something somewhere else?" 

Luke's eyes widened and he glanced down at Yoda, surprised to see an amused smile on the Jedi Master's face. "Here I should be," he answered slowly, nodding. "Yes - here." 

The woman frowned in confusion. "You're not a house elf. . ." She looked up at Luke, and he tried not to take a step backwards. "Well - I'm taking all of you to see Professor Dumbledore, then. Don't move!" She turned towards the statue, stared right at it, and said clearly, "Fruit and Nut Bar!" 

With a creak, the statue twisted round and up, back into the wall, revealing a tall staircase that grew and grew. The woman stepped onto it as it moved higher and higher, and Han, Luke, Yoda and Artoo all followed suit. Luke wondered briefly how Artoo could balance on the narrow steps, but then, the droid had never been worried by physical impossibilities before, so he didn't wonder for long. 

When the staircase finally stopped, the group all ascended the final few steps to an ominous-looking wooden door. A hoarse voice called out, "Come in!" After a moment, the door swung open by itself, and they all stepped through to the room beyond. 

Luke stared round the room in wonder, vaguely noticing Han do the same, and Artoo swivelling his head to catch the whole thing on his built-in holocam. There were ornaments and trinkets everywhere, none of which Luke could name, and portraits on every available wall surface, it seemed. His eyes finally rested on a cluttered desk, behind which sat the oldest man Luke had ever seen - not as old as Yoda, perhaps, but very old indeed. 

The man was staring at Luke's still-ignited lightsaber, an amused expression on his face. "Why," he said suddenly, catching Luke's eye, "the last time I saw one of those, I was in a Muggle cinema." 

The woman coughed nervously, and though Luke didn't understand the word 'Muggle' - or cinema for that matter - it seemed to make her uncomfortable. "Professor Dumbledore," she interrupted, "I caught these intruders wandering the castle. One of them was in the Gryffindor common room!" She waved a hand to indicate Han, and he glanced over at Luke, shrugging. 

Dumbledore seemed to think about this for a moment, still studying Luke's lightsaber intently. "These are all of them, are they?" 

"Yes," the woman said firmly. Luke realised she didn't want to imagine the possibility of there being more of them. He thought about Hobbie and Janson, worrying for a moment about their safety - and then worrying, for a significantly longer length of time, for the safety of everyone else in the building. He would definitely have to find them - but no sense letting the woman know. 

"Where did they come from?" Dumbledore asked, finally looking up at the woman. 

"Miss Granger told me that this one-" She indicated Han again. "-was in the fireplace when she, Potter and Weasley returned from their study session in the library. The others I found just outside your office." 

Luke shut off his lightsaber, clipped it to his belt, and stood vaguely to attention. "Sir," he addressed Dumbledore, "I don't mean to cause trouble." 

"You never _mean_ to cause trouble, kid, it's a natural talent." 

Luke glared at Han quickly, scowling at his lopsided grin, and turned back to Dumbledore. "My name is Luke Skywalker, this is Captain Han Solo, Jedi Master Yoda, and my droid, Artoo Detoo. Master Yoda, Artoo and I found ourselves in your entrance hall after entering a cave on Dagobah; I imagine Han's situation is similar." 

"Oh sure, except that Vader was trying to freeze me in carbonite." 

"What?" Luke stared wide-eyed at Han, then glared down at Yoda. "I told you I had to get to them!" 

Yoda didn't answer; merely hit him with his stick again. Luke had the feeling he was going to lose all sensation in his right leg one of these days. 

"If you did not arrive together, perhaps we should go and check that no more of your friends have entered the castle unannounced." Dumbledore winked at Luke knowingly, and he winced. Hopefully Hobbie and Janson wouldn't be causing too much trouble, wherever they were. 

The woman didn't seem to like that possibility at all, but she swallowed and nodded. "What are we going to do with them, sir?" 

Dumbledore smiled as he stood up. "I imagine they'll make a nice little stockpile for Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers," he said with a wink, stepping over to the door and pulling it open. "They can't be any less qualified than the last few. Alternatively, we'll help them find their way home, wherever that may be." 

"Well, sir," Luke said, bringing up the lead as the group filed out of Dumbledore's office, "if you could just direct us to the nearest Rebel Alliance cell, we would appreciate it." 

"Rebel Alliance," Dumbledore repeated with a chuckle. "If only I'd thought of that before naming the Order. Certainly, young Skywalker, I shall help you find your friends." 

The man seemed almost as crazy as Yoda, Luke thought, bemused. He shook his head as he followed the others down the stairs, not noticing the shadowy movement behind him in Dumbledore's office. He hoped the old man could help them. They were pretty vaping stuck if he couldn't.

* * *

Hobbie vaguely noted that they seemed to have lost Skywalker, his droid and the alien as he and Wes wandered down the fourth-floor corridor. He was slightly worried - not for Skywalker's safety; Luke could vaping well take care of himself, with that nifty weapon of his. No - he was worried that, without Skywalker around, Wes would drag him into his usual trouble. Which he really, really didn't think he could handle in such a strange environment. At least the base was the base, Wedge was Wedge, and trouble just meant a night of kitchen duty. Here, it could all be just about anything, and _that's_ what was the scariest. 

Suddenly, Hobbie heard footsteps further down the corridor, and he grabbed at Wes's sleeve to stop him. He looked round for somewhere to hide from whoever was coming, and spotted a door to his right. Dragging Wes behind him, he ran over to it, thanking whoever ran the galaxy that it was open as he pulled Wes into the room beyond and closed the door quietly behind them. 

A few seconds passed as Hobbie tried to persuade his heart to stop beating so fast and so loudly. Then Wes said, "Look, Hobs, if you wanted to be alone with me you could just _say_-" 

Hobbie hit his friend on the arm. "Ssh!" He pressed his ear to the door, listening as the footsteps passed and faded, then sighed in relief. "Someone was coming," he told Wes, finally straightening and looking round the room they were in now. 

It was a classroom, just like one of the smaller lecture rooms back at the Academy - except that lecture rooms at the Imperial Academy weren't lit by floating candles, didn't have moving portraits on the wall, and definitely didn't have what looked like a hologram sitting at the main desk, scribbling on a sheet of flimsiplast. The hologram looked up suddenly, said "Oh," and then said, "Is it time for class already?" 

Wes glanced back at Hobbie, shrugged, and turned to grin at the hologram - though Hobbie had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't a hologram at all. "I don't know," he said brightly, sitting on one of the desks and swinging his legs. "This is a school, then?" 

"Yes," the hologram-that-wasn't-a-hologram answered, then frowned. "At least, it was this morning. I think. You _are_ Jenkins, aren't you? Seventh year?" 

"Janson," Wes corrected. "That's Hobbie. We're not here for class, though Hobbie could probably do with it." 

"Oh, good," the ghost - Hobbie had decided it was a ghost, now, though he desperately hoped he was wrong - said. "I'll go, then. Must get the notes for tomorrow - it _is_ the tenth of November tomorrow, isn't it? Nineteen fifty-two?" 

"Sure," Wes replied cheerfully. "See you later." 

The ghost nodded distractedly and floated out through the back wall, and Hobbie shivered as he sat in the chair of the desk Wes was sat on. "I don't like this place at all," he announced. 

"Are you kidding? It's great! Come on," Wes ordered, jumping to his feet and heading for the door again. He pulled the door open and stuck his head out to check the corridor, then grinned and waved for Hobbie to come with him. "Let's keep on exploring. I want to see what's upstairs." 

Hobbie groaned as he followed Wes along the corridor and up the stairs. "As long as it's a way back home, then I won't complain anymore." 

"Don't be making promises you can't keep, Hobbie," Wes advised, pulling him up the last step to the fifth floor. 

Hobbie shivered again and shook his head. He had the strangest feeling, like he'd been frozen in time for an hour while the author worked out plot details by playing a video game until she found the map of the building they were in and knew where they were headed. Utterly ridiculous, of course: what did an author or a plot have to do with this? So far as he knew, this situation was entirely Wes's fault - no outside influences involved. Still. . . 

He tried not to think about it as Wes dragged him along the corridor and tried to get into all the rooms. Thankfully, all the doors on this floor were locked - but then, that meant Wes was going to drag him up _another_ set of stairs to _another_ floor. Just how big _was_ this place? 

Sure enough, Hobbie found himself following Wes up the last few stairs to the sixth floor and down a little way to the nearest door. Once again, it was locked. Hobbie sighed and leaned back against the wall as Wes turned to head off in another direction. "What are you looking for, anyway?" 

"I don't know," Wes answered, squinting in the gloom. Unfortunately, there weren't any candles on this floor, and what little light there was came from downstairs. "Something fun. Come on," he said suddenly, grabbing Hobbie's arm and pulling him towards the next set of stairs. "The next floor's the last one, I think-" 

"How do you know that?" 

"There was a map. . ." Wes trailed off and looked round suddenly. "I think. Somewhere. Or maybe someone told me." 

"How could someone tell you?" Hobbie was getting more and more confused by the second. He hated being confused around Wes, and it always, _always_ happened. "I've been with you the whole time we've been here, no thanks to whoever's fault _that_ is, and no one told _me_." 

"Well, it-" Suddenly, Wes stopped, and Hobbie vaguely saw a shadow as he crashed into _something_ and fell to the floor. Blinking and waving his hand around wildly, Hobbie eventually grabbed what he thought was Wes's arm and tried to pull himself up. 

"Ow! Hey, George, let go!" 

"What are you on about, Fred, I'm not- Fred, stop pushing me!" 

"Hobbie? Is that you?" 

There was a moment's silence, then- 

"Fred, did you hear that?" 

"There's someone else here! Is it a teacher? Are you a teacher, whoever you are?" 

"Or worse, a prefect?" 

"Oh, I have an idea - _Lumos_!" 

Hobbie shielded his eyes as the hallway was suddenly flooded with light, and squinted past his arm to find two identical red-haired teenagers staring at him in amazement. He looked round and spotted Wes a little to the right of them, crouched on the floor, ready to attack whatever moved first - or he would have been, if the weapon in his holster had been a blaster and not, in fact, the remote control for the lounge's holoprojector. 

"Intruders!" one of the boys shouted cheerfully, nudging his twin. "George, which one d'you think was in the common room?" 

The other boy glanced from Hobbie to Wes thoughtfully, then looked at his brother. "I'm not sure. But wouldn't he be covered in ash from the fireplace?" 

"Ah, yes." The first boy - Fred, though Hobbie knew it was futile to try and tell them apart - nodded his agreement. "So these two are - new intruders!" He grinned cheerfully, and Hobbie was reminded very much of Wes, at those dangerous times when his friend was thinking up a plan. 

"We're not-" Hobbie paused, remembered he was still half-sitting, half-lying on the floor, and clambered to his feet, brushing his flightsuit down roughly. He looked up at the twins and frowned at the strange weapons they were aiming at him - whatever they were, they looked like sticks, and he didn't like them at all. "We're not intruders," he said carefully, glancing over at Wes as he got to his own feet. 

"We're explorers," Wes told them. He was grinning again, but Hobbie could see that he was still ready to attack if the need arose. 

"Really?" Fred's eyes lit up. "Sounds like fun! What are you exploring Hogwarts for?" 

"Fred," the other boy - George? - hissed. "Careful - we don't know what they might do, and we haven't set up any traps on this floor yet." 

"Oh, right." Fred frowned, thinking it over, then flashed a grin at Wes and Hobbie again. "You two just hold on until we set up some proper traps," he told them, "and then we can catch you properly. Just. . .stay here." 

Hobbie stared blankly as the twins ran past him, rucksacks swung over their shoulders, and crouched by the stairs that led down to the fifth floor. He groaned as Wes, apparently curious, followed them, and trailed after him reluctantly. 

"What kind of traps are you setting up?" Wes asked the twins, crouching down beside them. 

The boys shared a glance, then shrugged - at exactly the same time, which unnerved Hobbie slightly. Fred looked up at Wes and grinned again. "We're putting some of our home-made fireworks on the top stairs here, and we're going to cover the banisters in treacle - to, uh, impede the intruders," he added quickly. 

"Wasting perfectly good food?" Wes asked, eyes wide. "Anyway - aren't you going downstairs?" 

"Yes," the boys answered in unison. Fred added, "We're setting up on every floor." 

"So wouldn't it make sense to start from the bottom and work your way up, so that you don't fall victim to your own pranks?" 

"Ye- ah. . ." Fred tilted his head and studied Wes appraisingly for a moment. "I'll blame that lapse of common sense on George." 

"Hey," his brother cried indignantly. "You were the one who suggested putting them on every floor in the first place." 

Wes shook his head, smirking. "You obviously have a lot to learn about practical jokes. Rule number one, remember, is _never set pranks up where you might run into them before your victim._" 

Hobbie snorted. "Unless your victim is your room mate." 

"In which case," Wes added, "you just make sure he's stupider than you." 

"Hey!" Hobbie scowled and nudged Wes on the shoulder - forgetting that he was crouched precariously at the top of a long flight of stairs. 

With a yelp, Wes tried to recover his balance, stumbling forwards a couple steps - right onto the fireworks Fred and George had already set up. His balance knocked off further by the colourful explosions at his feet, he pitched forward and fell, managing to sweep all the remaining fireworks with his sleeve so that they tumbled after him. They were a trail of bright light and explosions as he bounced down the stairs, hitting his head on every other step until he reached the bottom. 

Hobbie, Fred and George stared after Wes, wincing sympathetically at every bump. A moment of near-silence - ruined by Wes's constant stream of muttered curses - passed, and then all three of them clattered down the stairs towards him, Fred and George pointing their strange light beams as Hobbie jumped the last few steps to land beside his friend. 

"Wes?" Hobbie stared in horror at the crumpled heap of orange in front of him, and reached a hand out tentatively to poke it. "Wes, are you all right?" 

Wes's head shot up suddenly, his hair a mess - and matted with a mixture of blood and soot - as he glared at Hobbie. "Absolutely fine," he said, "besides the several broken ribs, sprained ankle, fractured skull. . .What is this, payback for your own bacta-requiring injuries?" He rubbed at the back of his head, pulling a face at the state of his hand when he took it away. "It's not _my_ fault you're a terrible pilot, Hobs." 

There was another moment or two of silence as Hobbie stared at Wes. He sighed as his friend stood up carefully, poking at a spent firework with his foot and frowning thoughtfully. He was all right. 

"Well," said Fred after a few moments, "at least we know it works."

* * *


	4. So whose fault is this anyway?

Ginny poked her brother on the shoulder as they sneaked down the fourth floor corridor, earning herself an irritated glare. "What exactly are we doing again?" she asked. She was getting rather confused about all this. 

"Finding out what's happening," Ron answered shortly, and Ginny scowled at the back of his head. 

"McGonagall took the Solo person down to Dumbledore's office," Harry explained from beside her. "We're going to see what they'll do to him." 

"And how did he get here again?" she asked. She was sure - what was it again? Something Hermione said a lot. No, not _where do you think you're going_ or _when do you plan on doing your homework_. . .Oh, that's right. "I thought it was impossible to get in and out of this castle without permission." 

She could have sworn she saw Hermione grinning smugly, but it was hard to tell in the gloom. 

"Well, he managed it," Harry said, shrugging. "In fact-" He paused and fumbled in his pockets for a moment, then pulled out an old piece of parchment - the Marauders' Map - and unfolded it. "-a fair few people have managed it," he told her, surprise in his voice. 

Ginny took a step back and peered over his shoulder. There were several tiny dots, many of which had names attached to them that she had never heard before. In Dumbledore's office, there was a 'Han Solo', 'Luke Skywalker', 'Yoda' and 'Artoo Detoo' along with Dumbledore and McGonagall, and up on the sixth floor were Fred and George with a 'Wes Janson' and 'Derek Klivian'. The map seemed to flicker slightly on the last name, alternating between 'Klivian' and 'Klivan' as if it couldn't quite decide how to spell it. After a few moments, it apparently got sick of itself and changed the whole thing to just 'Hobbie'. 

As Ginny stared closer at the map, the adults left Dumbledore's office and another, fainter dot started to appear there. But before she could really see it properly, Harry had folded the map away and returned it to his pocket. She shrugged as they resumed walking - it was probably just some sort of malfunction. It _was_ a very faint dot. 

They reached the third floor without anything going wrong - some kind of miracle, Ginny thought, rolling her eyes. When they reached the statue guarding Dumbledore's office, all four of them drew to a halt, and she noticed Harry hesitating. 

"Er," he said nervously, glancing round at the others. "Cockroach Cluster," he said to the statue. 

No response. 

"Cockroach Cluster?" Ginny repeated in disbelief. "Don't tell me _that's_ the password for Dumbledore's office." 

"_Obviously_ it's not, Ginny," Ron said scornfully, "or the statue would have moved." 

"All right," she replied huffily. "I was only saying." 

"Well, it _was_ the password," Harry told her dejectedly. "The other one I know was Sherbet Lemon." He glanced at the statue hopefully, but it still didn't move. 

"Yes, well," Hermione put in, rolling her eyes, "Dumbledore always was a bit of a fruit and nut bar, wasn't he?" 

"Hey, Dumbledore's a great-" Ron's indignant tirade died in an instant as the statue leapt aside and the hidden staircase ascended slowly. "-fruit and nut bar," he finished, staring wide-eyed and swallowing. 

The four Gryffindors stared at the rising staircase for a moment, then jumped on quickly. Ginny turned to find Harry shaking his head in amazement, a strange grin on his face. "What's a fruit and nut bar?" she asked him in a whisper. 

He just shook his head again and looked up, stepping forward as the staircase stopped moving. Flattening his hair nervously - Ginny hated that habit of his - he knocked on the office door, but received no answer. Frowning, he glanced round at Ron and Hermione, but they shrugged. Not wanting to feel left out, Ginny shrugged too, but Harry had already turned back to the door and she scowled. 

She gasped as Harry pushed on the door anyway, peering round him as it opened onto Dumbledore's cluttered office. She followed him as he stepped into the room, hearing Ron and Hermione step in behind her, and screwed her face up in confusion. Dumbledore wasn't here, and nor was McGonagall or any of the strangers. The office was- 

Not _quite_ empty, she realised suddenly. 

"Who are you?" she heard Harry ask, and stepped sideways so she could see who he was directing the question to. 

Sitting behind Dumbledore's desk was - well, actually, someone who looked like Dumbledore. He seemed tall, from what Ginny could see of him when he was seated, and he had long white hair and a long white beard, and he had strange robes exactly like Dumbledore's, and even a hat - just like Dumbledore's. But...but...it _wasn't_ Dumbledore. 

"Albus Dumbledore," the voice answered sharply, in a clipped, posh accent, _rather_ unlike Dumbledore's. 

"No, you're not," Harry answered simply. 

"Insolent child!" the man cried indignantly, rising to his feet and glaring down at the four students. His glare was rather frightening, actually, though Ginny couldn't quite place _why_... 

She saw Hermione glance at Ron out of the corner of her eye, and looked round to see them both clutching their wands down by their sides. Nodding decisively, she pulled her own wand out of her pocket and did the same, careful to keep it out of sight of the strange man. 

"Of course I'm Albus Dumbledore," the man continued in a much quieter voice, as if he had realised his mistake in shouting at them. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Well, you're- you're-" Ginny could see that Harry was unsure of how to say what he was trying to say, and she frowned. "You're..." 

"Yes?" 

"_Blue_," he blurted out, and the man froze. 

"I have a skin condition," he explained, narrowing his eyes at Harry. 

"And- and-" 

Ginny suddenly realised what was so frightening about the man's glare. 

"And," Harry continued, taking a deep breath, "your eyes are _red_." 

There was a long pause before the man answered. "I'm an albino." 

"Actually," Hermione interrupted in a tone of voice Ginny recognised well - it meant she was going to be _smart_. "Most albinos don't have red eyes at all: they just have very pale eyes." 

There was another long pause as the man stared at Hermione, then tilted his head and frowned thoughtfully. "Really?" Hermione nodded. "Because I always thought they did." 

"No, that's just albino mice and other small creatures, really," Hermione explained. "Red eyes in humans are extremely rare - they're more likely to be a very pale blue." 

"Ah, right." The man nodded and rubbed at his chin idly - Ginny noticed that his beard moved from side to side as he did so, and realised it was fixed on with something elasticated. "You know, I could do with someone like you in my senior management team. Pellaeon would never be able to tell me something like that - oh, he's strategic enough, quick learner, loyal too, but a bit of an idiot really." 

Another few seconds of silence passed as the man continued to frown thoughtfully, Hermione grinned proudly, and everyone else stared at them in a stunned fashion. "Um," Ginny started, "but-" 

"But I _am_ Albus Dumbledore," the man interrupted decisively. "I am in charge of this school now, and you shall assist me in finding the Rebels in this facility at once, or you shall face the consequences." 

"We've suffered consequences before," Ron said in what sounded like a very brave voice. Ginny looked round and saw he was, however, crouched behind Hermione and holding his wand out blindly. Hermione stepped aside and he straightened bashfully. 

"Not _my_ consequences," the man informed him coldly. 

"What _are_ your consequences?" Ginny asked him curiously. 

The man seemed lost for a moment, then he scowled. "Just pray you never find out." 

All four children glanced at each other, then Harry turned to the strange man. "Tell us who these Rebels are, then, and we might help." 

"Technically, I don't know, since I haven't met them yet. That's not for another six years or so. But," he continued quickly, "I can tell you what to look out for. All Rebels are scruffy, never in correct uniform, and speak in American accents." 

"Hey, that man we saw earlier was exactly like-" 

Ron's voice cut off with a yelp as Hermione stood on his foot. "Nonsense," she said loftily. "We haven't seen any Rebels, I'm afraid. We can't help you." 

The man frowned, seemingly annoyed. "Damn. Now I have to think of consequences." His voice sounded very much like that of an author struggling to find a plot point. Ginny wondered how she knew that, and shrugged. Couldn't be important. 

A few moments passed, then Ron spoke up, feigning nonchalance. "Take your time." 

The man scowled again, and his red eyes seemed to darken. "Kitchen duty!" he cried triumphantly, giving them a tight smile. "You're all on kitchen duty for two standard weeks." 

Ginny frowned and glanced round at the others. Harry stared at the man, bemused, and Ron tilted his head, scratching at his cheek idly. "But the elves don't let people help in the kitchens," he told the strange man in a very matter-of-fact tone. 

"Perhaps they _should_," Hermione told him suddenly, a thoughtful frown on her face. "All right, so they won't accept wages or holidays, but the _least_ we can do is help out from time to time-" 

"Hermione," Harry hissed, "the man's _punishing_ us. Stop supporting him." 

"Oh," she said bashfully. "Right." 

"I think that's a no-go on the kitchen duty," Ginny told the man helpfully, finally getting a word in. 

He blinked and rubbed the back of his head - his white hair moved, seeming in danger of falling off, and Ginny realised _it_ was fake, too. "Well," he said, then stopped. "Well," he repeated, standing to vague attention once again, "I have plenty more consequences if kitchen duty's not an option." 

Again, there was a long pause. Ron said hopefully, "You could just let us go." 

"Absolutely not. Consequences." He frowned. "I always _delegated_ this sort of thing," he complained quietly to no one in particular. "Or it was always something _easy_. Never had to punish _child_ Rebel sympathizers..." 

"No, really," Ron continued. "You _could_ just let us go. We promise not to help the Rebels." 

"You promise?" The man frowned thoughtfully, and Ginny thought the concept seemed a new one to him. "Promise... Well, I'd have to take a token as assurance." 

Ginny looked round as the other three fumbled in their pockets, and felt like hitting her head against the wall when they produced their respective items: Ron had Fred and George's Explosive Snap deck; Hermione tentatively held out her second-best feather quill; and Harry had some Muggle money that he scowled at. 

The man blinked, then looked at Ginny. "Well, girl? What about you?" 

"Um..." She rifled through the pockets of her own robes, but all she could come up with was one of Fred and George's Nosebleed Nougats. She offered it to the strange man with a rueful smile. "Skiving Snackbox - I bet someone like you could use one of these!" 

Once again, the man blinked at her, then shook his head decisively. "No good," he declared. "Your tokens are of no value to me-" 

"But that's a whole fiver!" Harry informed the man indignantly. "You could get a whole...um..." 

"A book," Hermione suggested. "You could buy a Muggle book." 

Harry just looked at her. 

"No value," the man repeated testily, "so I shall choose a token my_self_. Perhaps that will encourage you to retain your Imperial loyalties." 

"Imperials?" Hermione's voice sounded as if she was being smart again. "I don't think we're Imperials, sir. Britain's not an empire anymore." 

"Of course you're Imperials," he told her dismissively. "You have English accents." 

There was a distinct pause - apparently, no one could argue with that - before the man turned back to Ginny. "You," he said simply. "Sit down there." 

Ginny obediently moved over to the wooden chair beside Dumbledore's desk, then paused about a step away. "Wait, why?" 

"Don't question my authority, child. Just do as I say." 

"But I'm a teenager," she told him, tilting her head curiously. "I'm _supposed_ to question authority." 

Harry and Ron nodded their agreement; after a moment's hesitation, so did Hermione. 

"Teenagers," the man sighed. "This is why the Chiss don't have adolescence... Well," he started, talking to all four students, "you have failed to produce a token to my satisfaction. For this reason, I am retaining one of your number; upon the neutralisation of any Rebel forces in this facility, it shall be returned to you." 

Harry, Ron and Ginny all looked at Hermione expectantly. She rolled her eyes and told them: "He's taking Ginny hostage." 

"Haven't we done that plot before?" Ginny asked in a puzzled manner. "With Tom Riddle?" 

"Look at the genre this is in," Hermione instructed them, waving her hand in a way that was supposed to take in the man behind the desk, as well as some unknown force - or, Force. "No one is afraid to re-use plotlines." 

There was a pause while everyone noted how many pauses there had been in this scene so far, then Ron finally stepped out from behind Hermione. "Here," he said rather indignantly, "you can't take my sister hostage." 

"Thanks, Ron, for coming to my aid so quickly," Ginny said sarcastically. 

"Of course I can," the man told him with a tight smile. "Now, I suggest you leave immediately or I will be forced to spend hours trying to think up a harsher punishment." 

"Go on," Ginny told them with a sigh. "I can handle him with a Bat Bogey Hex if I need to." 

"She's right, Ron," Hermione said. Then, in a lower voice: "We should go find Dumbledore and McGonagall." 

Harry nodded in agreement. After a quick glare at the strange blue man, Ron nodded as well. "OK," he said in a harsh voice, "we'll go. But if you hurt my little sister, then...then..." 

"You'll hurt me?" the man offered. 

"Yeah," Ron agreed, nodding vigorously. "I'll hurt _you_." 

With a quick, sympathetic glance at Ginny, Hermione ushered the boys out of Dumbledore's office. The door closed behind them, and the man finally sat in his chair again. "Charming," he noted dryly, then looked at Ginny. "Sit down." 

She did, her wand still in her hand but tucked into her sleeve now. "So," she started, "are you one of You Know Who's henchmen?" 

"You Know Who... Palpatine?" He frowned. "A mere _henchman_... I suppose. Why?" 

Maybe Palpatine was the Death Eaters' codename for He Who Must Not Be Named. Ginny shrugged. "Just wondering. How did you get into Hogwarts, then?" 

"Ah," the man said mysteriously, that tight smile returning. "My methods are not for mere human children - or teenagers - to know." 

Ginny wondered for half a second if that included the author. "Well, what are you going to do when you get the Rebels, or whatever they are?" 

"Then the next stage of my plan will be put into operation." His smile remained. 

He didn't seem to want to elaborate, and Ginny really couldn't be bothered annoying him about it any further. She'd quite frankly had enough of evil overlords, and was happy to just wait for Ron, Hermione and Harry to do whatever they had to do before rescuing her. They'd be able to eventually - they always were. 

The man started examining a curious model on Dumbledore's desk, and Ginny searched her pockets for anything she might have missed earlier. After a few moments, she came up with half a packet of non-Weasley-fied custard creams, and sighed. "Here, you want one?" she asked, taking a biscuit for herself and holding the packet out. 

Blinking, the man looked at the packet carefully. "They aren't poisoned?" 

Ginny shrugged. "As much as any other British sweet." 

Apparently satisfied with that, the man took a biscuit and bit into it. "Quite nice," he said cautiously upon swallowing, then popped the rest into his mouth. "What are they called?" 

"Custard creams," Ginny told him, then sighed. She imagined this was going to be a rather long night...

* * *


End file.
